


Lifetime Achievement Award 42

by Jimsdeadbones



Series: Conductor and Grooves' Studio Collaboration [1]
Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Missing Scene, Trans Male Character, hat kid makes a cameo at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 05:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19125577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimsdeadbones/pseuds/Jimsdeadbones
Summary: The forty times the Conductor won the Annual Bird Movie awards and the two times DJ Grooves did.A look through the decades both directors spent up against each other.





	Lifetime Achievement Award 42

**Author's Note:**

> This is like my first fic or two in a long time and I gotta say I'm nervous! I'm more of a DJ Grooves person but I wanted to try my hand writing from the Conductor's point of view. I hope I captured their essence well- hope you enjoy!
> 
> also content warning for an implied miscarriage. I'm new to tagging stuff (and posting on this site in general) though if there's anything else you need tagged feel free to let me know!!

“Congratulations, Conductor! I knew you could do it! I’m so happy for you!!!”

The moon penguin shook his hand vigorously, emanating genuine enthusiasm. There was no lie or a single trace of spite behind it, as much as he thought there would be.

“Thank you, lad! Couldn’t have done it without your support,” the Conductor chuckled, finding the others’ joy contagious and helpful. Their rivalry had truly brought out the best in them, and hey, DJ Grooves won second place! Their first Annual Bird Movie Award Ceremony left each other on a very positive note.

Best picture, best director, best story…It couldn’t get any better than this! All his hard work was rewarded with the most important, single trophy of them all.

Really, he had been planning on rubbing it in, and his face was starting to hurt from smiling so much. The lights were too bright, the crowd was too loud, and the DJ’s glittery, neon blue disco suit and heart sunglasses were as tacky as ever.

There was always the next time he won. For now, he could just chew out some random express owl for one reason or the other. Hopefully next year he’d gloat for real, and not these half-hearted pot-shots thwarted by a smile.

 

* * *

 

“Congratulations, Conductor! I’ve always believed in you, darling.”

DJ Grooves was as loud and positive as ever, and the Conductor being the good sport he is, figured he’d shake hands.

“Well, you know what they say Grooves! Hard work pays off. Congratulations to you as well!”

Good sportsmanship was something he thought was harder to master, but for all his ego and obnoxiousness, the Conductor figured he should take it easy on his second Best Picture win. He didn’t want to tempt fate just yet- they’ve added more categories this year, and the Conductor aced most of them.

Also, he had been challenged to be nice for a full twenty-four hours for each award ceremony event a year. He’d be damned if he lost that so easily. 

It was an unspoken agreement to leave all their taunting back at Dead Bird Studio. Any slip-ups in such a public event won’t be solved by his temper. Especially after learning the hard way that the tabloids didn’t take too kindly to his own personal brand of insults.

“Oh, don’t look so down, laddie! Always next year, am I right?”

“You make a fair point! Second’s the best with a golden chest after all,” Grooves chuckled.

There really was a golden chest plate the penguin wore this year. The Conductor laughed as well, amused by his rival’s fashion, always so colorful compared to the owl’s plain black suit and tie.

 

* * *

  

“Congratulations, darling! Third time seems to be the charm for you, eh? You are on fire, dear!”

This year had been a very, very close call. One of the categories started to introduce their own trophy reward, but it was still Best Picture that declared the big winner of the Ceremony.

Luckily, the Conductor was able to…make some shots of his own. He felt pretty bad for it, but at least that blasted Fire Bird Studio from the Alpine area was out of the game. Literally. They shut down and everything and it was like they never existed. 

“F-Fire- Oh yes! That’s right I am, aren’t I?” the owl quickly regained his bearings, adjusting his hat.

He could’ve sworn a flicker of doubt and confusion flashed across DJ Grooves’ face, then dismissed the bubbling worry in the only way he could.

“Gotcha good this year, eh, old friend? You ought to work real peckin’ harder so you could stay on my level and get that first-place award.” 

If Grooves didn’t like that, he certainly didn’t show it. There were none of those pesky paparazzi nearby, and the penguin still had the grace and patience to keep smiling as if they were tracking his every step.

“I suppose so, darling. One day the award will truly be mine.”

 

* * *

 

“Congratulations on award twenty-one, Conductor. You’ve done a good job on this year’s movie.”

By the tenth Annual Bird Movie Awards, Grooves’ patience had finally run thin along with the Conductor’s own unspoken rule of not being a complete jerk face in the Ceremony. As the running champion and one of the most powerful influencers in the Bird Movie world, there was no one brave enough to kick him out of the venue or disqualify him.

It was the same phrase, the same fake smile, the same firm handshake, and expertly veiled contempt behind those star-shaped sunglasses. The only difference were those gaudy outfits Grooves tailored himself for each ceremony.

It was a no-holds barred public event of mind games and manipulation.

The Conductor had polished his own methods of directing and pulling some strings to make sure both of them were exactly where he wanted. He kept his worst enemy as close as ever, trapping them both in the same old song and dance.

“No thanks to you as always. But hey, congrats on that consolation prize, I bet they got good money for you there.”

DJ Grooves merely hummed and gave a low whistle.

“They better, darling. I’m all caught up paying my share of the studio, and those letters in the basement ain’t gonna read themselves anytime soon.”

Well, peck, jerkass has a point.

“Keep licking your wounds and diverting all you want, DJ Peck Neck. We all know who’s the real director here.”

“You kiss your wife with that mouth? I’m almost sorry for her.”

 

* * *

  

Award Ceremony number thirteen was one of the worst years in Dead Bird Studio history.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, the Conductor took home first place yet again. The bird movie academy nearly slipped his grasp this year, and it took a blackmail or two to secure that win.

For once, it wasn’t on top of his priorities that year. Dead Bird Studio took a severe hit in terms of structural damages and debts. The train crashes, the pyrotechnics, and natural earthquakes that popped up near the studio were the big offenders. The Conductor barely made his payments in time and intimidating the bank didn’t work as well as he wanted to.

That, and his wife left him. 

The divorce gave him a rude awakening to how badly he treated the people closest to him. He was sure he did so well, and she assured him that he was a fantastic spouse.

But. 

The constant yelling work environment just wasn’t feasible for his family each time they visited, and the Conductor had another horrible habit of taking work home with him. The owl worked himself to the bone and gave little time back to his family as a result.

He was so certain he kept his temper in check, not that his wife had any trouble ripping his arguments into ribbons.

Love, he supposed, just ran dry eventually, and they left each other with no bad blood as much as possible, for the children’s sake.

His kids were getting old enough to leave the nest with their own lives, too.

The Conductor found himself in a bar that week, completely skipping the Ceremony itself. He had drunk himself to oblivion, pouring his heart out to his remaining companion.

“I dunno why I keep sabotaging me own relationships,” he mumbled, head resting on the table. “It must’ve been the stuff from back then, makin’ sure I never get hurt.”

“I can see that, darling. I’m so sorry that happened, by the way.”

Grooves’ voice was so soothing, healing even, as the nightclub’s music faded into the background.

“These things happen. It’ll pass, and the next thing you know we’ll be back to the old grind,” said the penguin, downing another shot.

“Aye, I suppose so,” the Conductor wanted to stop drowning in self-pity, fumbling with his empty shot glass.

“Thanks for taking care of some of the Studio stuff by the way. Let me pay for your drinks. Wait, are you supposed to be drinking? I thought…”

“…Don’t worry about it,” Grooves waved him off. “It’s okay, really.”

It wasn’t. 

It was many, many weeks later that the Conductor found an old newspaper, and an article and a hospital document that stated DJ Grooves had suffered an injury he never knew about.

In taking care of the unsafe areas of their studio, Grooves had a little accident with one of the support beams. The moon penguin was one of the toughest guys he knew, and sure, some heavy beams falling on him weren’t enough to affect him in the long run.

There was, however, an egg no one else knew was involved. That accident made sure Grooves never carried again.

Damn it. Damn it to peck, he thought. The Conductor had his own accident with one of his youngest back then and understood that particular grief far too well. He’d better go and check on his rival, who had been too quiet lately. A million worst case scenarios ran through his head as he floored it to the moon penguins’ side of the studio.

 

* * *

 

~~“Congratulations, it’s a boy!”~~

“Congratulations on your first ever win, DJ Grooves! Finally, you took your sweet time all these years, eh laddie?”

“Thank you darling, thank you!” the DJ wiped a tear or two with his flipper, as he held the trophy in pride.

This twentieth year and trophy number forty-two was lucky, and DJ Grooves really did win fair and square. Some guy from Red Bird Studio came in third place, right after the Conductor himself.

He didn’t care about that, though. He got careless, not noticing one of the Academy higher-ups got replaced by a new player who was vaguely aware of the Conductor’s puppeteering. Whatever, it shouldn’t take long to be dealt with, they all give in eventually.

Award forty-two should’ve been his, and yet.

A horrible pang of guilt flooded his system at the way DJ Grooves held the trophy. The owl liked to think it was jealousy, but instead…there should’ve been something else Grooves should have been holding, had it not been for the owl’s own neglect on the Studio that time.

The moon penguin still hid a significant scar behind those ridiculous high-waisted pants of his. The Conductor quickly buried that memory and shifted his focus onto something else. Also, he noticed, this year the peck neck opted for a red coat with gold, diamond-shaped rhinestones.

Tacky as ever, he thought. It’s a shame Grooves never wore its plain counterpart, the one red raincoat without all the gems and glitter.

“I’m happy for you, ya peck neck. Really am.”

Grooves looked stunned, then raised a huge brow of his, still smiling.

“Conductor, darling, are you feeling okay?” 

“I sure am! Seriously, don’t push it lad,” the owl lightly smacked away the flipper that rested on his shoulder. “About time anyway, and it’s always good to see Dead Bird Studio’s still going strong! Want to head out for drinks after? My treat.”

“I thought you’d never ask! I’ve got to make a stop at the Studio first, then head on over. The usual place?”

“You bet your bell bottoms, laddie.”

 

* * *

  

The days counting down to the twenty-fifth award ceremony wasn’t making them any younger, and their rivalry had climbed to a more ridiculous extent than ever.

“I can’t believe this. I’ve still got production costs to cover and these stunt-owls keep leavin’ one after the other! Before anyone can finish their training! it’s ridiculous!”

The Conductor ranted and raved about it in their weekly bar nights.

“You’re still paying someone to do all the leg work? Why not just do it yourself, darling. I don’t expect my moon penguins to do anything more extreme than dancing.”

“And put my life on the line? I’d rather not, thanks. Bartender! Another bottle, please!” 

DJ Grooves gave him a cool, judgemental stare behind his starry shades.

“Darling, don’t tell me you of all people are too cowardly to perform your own stunts. It doesn’t take a gymnast, it’s just as much hard work and dedication as you would for directing.”

“Coward? Ooh, I’ll show you peck necks,” snapped the Conductor, struggling to pour from bottle to glass. DJ Grooves reached to pour it out for him, then set aside the bottle far enough to let him know it was enough for the night.

The moon penguin had an unfair advantage of impressive agility that made complex flips and jumps look like a breeze, and he was starting to master it with those bulky platform shoes. The owl had sworn those things contained wheels that made his rival skate all over the place like it was no one’s business.

“This is so sad. Aren’t you big on method acting, too?”

“Oh, shut it! …Fine, fine! I’ll give it a try on Monday while filming.”

Needless to say, the Conductor spent a week in hospital with a broken leg that following take. DJ Grooves left him a get-well-soon bouquet and a sheepish grin. He never took his anger out on the stunt owls again after that.

 

* * *

  

There were more and more trophies awarded from each category, though awards ceremony itself remained static after that. If any of them had to estimate, the number of trophies the owl won were somewhere in the high hundreds. The Conductor winning each year was just a sign that all was right with the world, but within the studio, the stakes rose higher.

Now that both directors were capable of doing their own stunts by the thirtieth year, they decided to challenge each other further using real, honest-to-god weapons.

There was nothing like a good old western showdown duel between the two, except with deadly guns they opted for knives. The aim of the game was to throw them with deadly accuracy, then move on with chainsaws. 

Their moves got more complex, each using signals for stagehands to make it seem like there were more blades than initially allowed.

How they remained alive was just a matter of luck in their stupid game. 

Throw, throw, duck, throw. Each pattern of attacks was random, and almost like movie magic, the blades were able to move on its own without the cast’s help. 

Neither of them questioned it, it made good practice for their dart matches in their weeknights out.

“Had enough, laddie?” the Conductor struggled to catch his breath, his old suit in tatters.

“I’m just getting started, darling.” DJ Grooves laughed a little, with pained wheezes in-between.

Before any of them could resume their attacks, a bird neither express owl nor moon penguin arrived at the scene.

“Sirs, the award ceremony’s starting in an hour. You told me to remind you after an hour again, so get to it,” the receptionist glanced at his clipboard, nonchalant to the violence around him. “Sorry, hang on- the ceremony’s starting in half an hour, and—”

The directors floored it, yelling curses and leaving a trail of destruction and blades in their wake.

“—And I’m not paid enough for this. Alrighty, then.”

 

* * *

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Ladies and- GENTLEMEN!”

The Conductor was knocked back pretty far from the disco ball’s impact. Who knew that could cause so much damage, and with confetti adding insult to injury.

“That just ain’t fair, laddie! This is supposed to be a knife fight! A good, old-fashioned brawl!”

“Felt too boring, so I changed it up a bit. You don’t mind, do you, darling?” DJ Grooves asked, ready to ignore the Conductor’s inevitable yelling of yes, he did mind.

“For peck’s sake, try not to bring the whole place down! I just finished redecorating my room upstairs!”

“I hope it falls off,” DJ Grooves made a face. “Of all things you could commission to make out of gold and you chose…that thing? For Award 383? Too gaudy, and that’s coming from me.”

“It was an impulse purchase!” the Conductor weakly defended, to which Grooves tsk’d and shook his head in return.

God knows how many years they’ve both been involved in the Awards Ceremony. It felt the same ever since DJ Grooves stopped wearing unique outfits each year. Even raking in minimum of twenty trophies a year felt monotonous to him now.

The Conductor blew a whistle through his feathers, and in the next moment, several cars from offstage circled a bewildered DJ Grooves.

“What—”

All vehicles soon turned to him for an impending collision, and had it not been for Grooves’ quick reflexes jumping ridiculously high up and away to a ledge, he’d probably be seriously injured. Or dead, Probably.

“What the hell was that?!”

“You were right, we had to change it up, so I had one move set handy.”

“You’re out of your god damned mind!”

“Oh, don’t be so spooked, you love this!”

“The fight? Yes. Being run over by cars? Not a fan!”

“It could’ve been my skull you crushed earlier so let’s call it even.”

Both directors were starting to think that, maybe, just maybe, these sparring sessions were getting a tad unhealthy.

 

* * *

 

Award Ceremony year number forty-two was just a few sleeps away.

Their weekend truce and excursions became further and further in between, and tonight might be one of the last ones for some time.

“Thanks for the drinks,” the Conductor said, adjusting his coat.

“No problem. It’s your turn next time, alright?” DJ Grooves reminded the owl, while staring into the distance.

It was a rainy night outside Dead Bird Studio. Rather than a real bar, they decided to make use of the one in the western set.

Their regular truce had been somewhat turbulent lately. Both of them might have said some things they shouldn’t have, and the Conductor was terrified each drinking session he might’ve slipped up and tipped the moon penguin that the Awards may not have been as honest and upstanding as once believed.

Even their shared childhood idol from way back then wasn’t so innocent, but Grooves didn’t have to know any of that.

“Aye. Take care of yourself, laddie.”

“Have a good night.”

 As they were about to part ways, something bright fell and shattered on both of them.

“What the...”

 The owl had no idea what the peck was that, but he could feel himself slipping away and blacking out. That really settles it then, no more drinks for the next couple of months. 

The Conductor had a really strange dream that night.

He was in a dream-like version of Dead Bird Studio, where crates were floating and everything looked the same but slightly to the left. Below his feet were solid platforms, floating in a sea-like void. It was like looking into a warped mirror in some circus and feeling a lot that one movie he made about dreams.

There were purple crystals and…some sort of light. 

It’s a shame he couldn’t remember any of it. It was probably not that important. 

The following morning, he just assumed DJ Grooves dragged his drunk, feathery butt home and left a glass of water on the bedside like usual.

 

* * *

 

“And this year’s Best Picture Bird Movie Award goes to: DJ Grooves!”

The audience went wild and the Conductor could do nothing but flinch. Surely they weren’t this loud before, where was all this enthusiasm when he won?

“Thank you, darling, thank you,” Grooves bowed gracefully, then went on to give a heartwarming speech the owl didn’t care to hear about. He could just slip away and leave and get his trophies afterward.

And that he did. He passed by a certain newcomer on the way out without either of them caring to acknowledge the other.

Similar to the DJ’s previous win, there was a wild card the Conductor hadn’t taken into account for:

Hat Kid.

That lass came out of nowhere around the same time he and Grooves had unveiled their shiny new props to each other.

Perhaps he had been a little too harsh with the girl. Accusing her of fraud (that’s his job) and dismissing her like one of his disposable actors had been his biggest mistake.

Of course, the crowd would go wild for a movie about an alien rising to stardom and leading a parade. The plots were severely lacking, but it was still better than reusing and rehashing the same old movies the Conductor did.

Technically they were both cheating out in the open this year, since their main star wasn’t a Bird as per the rules of the Academy (not that he really cared). Grooves willingness to try something new actually allowed him to get away with it.

Rats. Seemed like it was too crowded to leave right now, so perhaps during the intermission he’d make his getaway.

For old time’s sake, he resigned himself to being a good sport, sucking up his pride as he approached the moon penguin during the break.

“Congratulations, DJ Grooves. I knew you could do it, lad, I’m happy for you.”

“Why thank you darling! Couldn’t have done it without our new star,” Grooves smiled and returned the handshake. There was something…off about him.

 “Yes. Quite the diva, isn’t she,” the Conductor mused.

The directors’ conversation was undisturbed among the busy crowd, it seemed like the masses were happy to ignore the high-profile birds in favor of meeting the newest Bird Movie celebrity.

“Say…something about those shiny new props we used seem familiar. There was only four of them in our studio, right?”

DJ Grooves’ smile faded, and the owl for the life of him couldn’t figure out what expression he was making behind those shades.

“I think so. You haven’t seen more of them, have you?”

“Not at all, which was why I asked,” the Conductor turned his attention to the wine glass he was drinking from.

“Maybe it’s just déjà vu,” the moon penguin helpfully suggested. “We’ve all been there before.”

“Eh. You’re right, I’m probably thinking too much into it.”

“Might be. Intermission’s almost over, we need to get going.”

“Of course, of course. Congrats again, DJ Grooves.”

It was only when he got home from the Ceremony did the Conductor finally remember.

Those things were Time Pieces. He had forgotten it was a kind of myth in the old days, a magic hourglass that could rewind time and possibly bring about the apocalypse.

Those artifacts could affect a person’s entire life. He wasn’t sure how, but it did.

How did he forget? One must’ve fallen on him and Grooves that one weekend out, which explained these dreams of alternate scenarios he had dismissed as his anxiety. The Time Piece knocked him out that night, and his rival had every chance to keep it, shattered or not.

That Hat Kid was trouble—no, she was here to fix the trouble. Why else would she be here? 

Oh god she might be in danger. He had to warn her _now_.

 

* * *

 

_“I’ll get this Time Piece just for myself. The little darling girl doesn’t even know it exists. I don’t think she’ll miss it, she’s got so many!”_

_“I remember seeing these Time Pieces a long time ago, and I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to crush one.”_

_“Oh, I think we should just smash it, darling. Although, maybe all that magic time juice is just gonna take them.”_

 

 


End file.
